Father Tanjuro had always wished to build a small shrine for the Fire God.
But with little money and so many mouths to feed, it never happened. He would often hold young Roy and Tanjiro and sigh that he wasn't a worthy devotee, then pin his hopes on the two brothers: when they were able, they must find the Fire God a place out of the wind and rain—nothing big or lavish, just not shabby, so as not to slight the deity.
Now Tanjiro stood before a shrine, looking up along moss-covered stone steps, and thought this one was just right—unadorned, not large, quiet and deep. The Fire God would love it.
He tightened the basket on his back, turned to Roy, and said, "Nii-san, let's go in and pay our respects."
Custom says: if you lodge at a shrine, you light three sticks of incense and say, "Sorry to intrude." If you have no incense, you kneel in sincerity and thank the god for taking you in.
Roy believed neither in gods nor ghosts, so he had no intention of offering anything. He pointed at the steps and asked, "With snow this heavy, why isn't there any on the stairs?"
"It means the shrine has a caretaker," Tanjiro said happily. "If they're still sweeping this late, they must be diligent. Nii-san… maybe we'll even get a hot meal tonight."
"We are the hot meal," Roy said with a crooked, mocking smile.
"?"
Tanjiro's face changed. Before he could ask what Roy meant, a piercing reek of blood hit his nose. Faint, but familiar—exactly the same scent he'd smelled when he followed Roy into the mountains to dig coal.
Which meant—
A demon.
"There's a demon in the shrine!"
Every hair on Tanjiro's body stood on end.
Roy glanced at him. "Not totally stupid," he said, and climbed the steps. "Come on. If we go in too late, it won't be hot anymore."
Tanjiro flushed, yanked the axe from his belt with a shing, and gripped it. He was a hothead by nature; in the original story he'd smelled blood outside a shrine and still charged in with Nezuko on his back—plenty of nerve.
"Don't worry, Nii-san—this time I'll protect you!"
The gleam of the axe gave him courage. The foolish otōto swallowed hard and swore he wouldn't hide behind a tree this time.
"Great," Roy said, stepping aside to give him the lead.
Tanjiro: "…"
There was nothing for it now. He braced himself and rushed in.
Human history is, in a sense, a long film about conquering fear.
Roy followed at an easy pace, a thin layer of aura over his eyes. He'd already taken in the scene and identified the demon: the very one from the story that used the shrine as bait to hunt peddlers and travelers. Rumor had it many had gone missing nearby—clearly this demon's handiwork. It wasn't especially strong—no Blood Demon Art like Sato Takeichiro—but with a demon's regeneration and toughness, it could still terrorize the area with ease.
Cre-eak… cre-eak… The demon was in the middle of dinner.
In the cold season, business was good. A shrine to block wind and snow was far better than sleeping rough. Luck had delivered an itinerant peddler "fresh and hot."
Blood-soaked, head lolling, the man sat beside a broken idol; his guts were torn out, and a slick rope of intestine hung from the demon's mouth as it chewed with relish.
"What do you think you're doing? This is my dining hall. Interrupting a meal is rude."
The demon snapped its head around, bloodshot eyes boring into them. Tanjiro froze in the doorway, watching it "eat" mouthful by mouthful. His gut lurched; the dumplings from lunch nearly came up.
"Swallow it. Don't waste what Mother worked for at dawn," Roy said.
Tunk, tunk… He stepped over the worn stone and stopped beside Tanjiro.
The demon stood, wiped its bloody mouth, and grinned wide—jagged fangs and all. "Two humans? Wonderful… I love winter—endless food."
"You talk too much," Roy said flatly, and clapped Tanjiro on the back. "Go."
Caught off guard, Tanjiro stumbled forward with an "Ah—ah!" and charged—only to be blasted back by a driving knee strike.
Even the most ordinary demon, boosted by demon blood, has speed and power humans can't match.
Tanjiro had watched Roy fight Sato Takeichiro and thought it looked easy. Now he realized he'd badly misjudged demons—and even worse, misjudged his Nii-san.
This isn't something humans can fight!
It felt like being hit by a charging bear; his body nearly came apart. The demon closed the gap again. Tanjiro sucked in air mid-fall, swung the axe at its neck—
A good instinct—one reason Giyu Tomioka would later recommend him to Urokodaki.
Snick—
Blood sprayed. The demon landed clutching its neck—nearly hewn in half—and stared in disbelief. "An axe? Not bad. But a scratch like this will heal in a moment."
And before the words were done, the bleeding stopped, the wound knitting as if stitched by an invisible hand.
The image of Sato's arm growing back flashed through Tanjiro's mind. He understood: unless you kill a demon, no matter the wound, it heals in a blink.
He forced himself up through the pounding in his head, locked his grip on the axe haft, and fixed the demon in his sights, braced for the next strike.
Whip—
The demon moved—vanishing from view in a flicker. No time to react. It burst in from his blind spot, clamped his throat, and slammed him to the floor.
"S—so fast… I can't track him at all." Tanjiro wedged the axe haft against the demon's claws, but the brute force pouring down his arms rolled his eyes back; he had no strength to resist.
"Heh-heh-heh… I won't let you hit me a second time. Watch me snap your neck."
The demon bore down. Tanjiro almost blacked out. His mind sparked with a rush of thoughts—
What do I do?
Ask Nii-san for help?
No… I said I'd protect him. I can't go back on it.
But I'm going to die… and then there's nothing…
I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die…
"Nii-san! Help me!"
~~~
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